Joseph Skipsey Poems

I MIGHT have wish's it otherwise;
But yet, poor heart, tho' they were cruel—
Those thunder-clouds above her eyes,
They very much became the jewel!
...

HER harp she takes, from string to string,
Her little snowy fingers, glancing,
Into Night's ear a wild spell fling,
And all the while my heart is dancing.
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A CLOUD the valley domes, and down
Yon erewhile sun-lit mountain stealth,
And bit by bit, with one black frown,
The green and gold below concealed.
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BACK flies my soul to other years,
When thou that charming lay repeatest,
When smiles were only chased by tears,
Yet sweeter far than smiles the sweetest.
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JUST let the Owl of Evil howl;
To mourners of each rank and station, I cry,
Come, troll the Golden Bowl!
And quaff me with a deep potation.
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WHEN Day once stirs, her locks of gold,
Up, seize, ere she is well awaken!
And with her steps thy paces hold,
Till she from Earth her leave hath taken.
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MY wee, wee fawn, you see me yawn?
Well, I'm not much disposed to flattery;
And were I so, you rogue! you know
You're proof against the fiercest battery.
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TRUTH'S words are oft so very true―
And always when my lips he uses,
His foes, which let us hope, are few,
Declare he but the truth abuses.
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YOU quite mistake the sprite you chase—
I'm of the under, not the upper,
Order of the fairy race;
And cannot go with you to supper.
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HOW long shall injustice prevail?
How long shall the weak rue the strong?
The children of Poland bewail
The yoke of the Russian?—How long?
...